I wish all of you a happy 2011 (hard to imagine that year!).
I hope to post more often (as I've been recently) and I look forward to this coming year.
All the best,
Richard
Friday, December 31, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Hugo Wolf
Nice article in the Wall Street Journal.
Wonderful composer--all choral conductors should know his Sechs Geistliche Lieder. The Doblinger edition is the best one to get. They're quite challenging, but definitely rewarding for a good choir!
Wolf's comparative obscurity should not belie his importance, though when it comes to his legacy the two are connected. Wolf achieved greatness by composing lieder, or German art songs. But unlike Schubert and Schumann, on whose efforts in the form he expanded, Wolf composed little else of note, aside from his brisk "Italian Serenade" and lilting "Intermezzo," both for string quartet. His other scores—including one completed opera and some orchestral works—hold little interest.
![[wolf]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/ED-AM775_wolf_DV_20101227182632.jpg)
Alas, art song, with its delicate marriage of poetry and music, has never enjoyed mass appeal. It ostensibly lacks the brawn of symphonic works or the over-the-top drama of opera. But Wolf scaled new heights in this genre by communicating expansive feelings so effectively that one doesn't notice the compressed form—or rather, one appreciates his achievement all the more because of it.
Despite dying of syphilis shortly before he turned 43, in 1903, Wolf composed some 300 songs, the best of them settings of poems by the German writers Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Joseph von Eichendorff and Eduard Mörike. Though Wolf's lieder may lack the immediate tunefulness that characterizes so many of Schubert's songs—and plenty of Schumann's, too—the compatibility of his music and the poetry he chose to set more than compensates. (Schubert, by contrast, sometimes lavished his great melodic gifts on inferior verse.)
Many of Wolf's songs deal with love, yearning and despair—typical subjects for lieder. But despite the composer's own earnestness, not everything he wrote was as severe as his three "Harfenspieler" ("Harp-player") lieder, anguished laments based on poetry by Goethe. His setting of Eichendorff's "Der Musikant" ("The Wandering Minstrel"), by contrast, reveals a deep appreciation for charm. And he had a sense of humor, too, as is vividly displayed in his treatments of two Mörike poems: "Zur Warnung" ("As a Warning"), about the effects of a hangover, and "Abschied" ("Leave-Taking"), a decidedly joyous depiction of a critic tumbling down stairs. He even dabbled in magic- realism—with Mörike's "Storchenbotschaft" ("Stork Messengers"), in which a pair of storks inform a surprised shepherd that he's been doubly blessed.
Wolf got his first and most important boost into the mass market in 1931, when the English record company HMV released the first of six volumes in a subscription series called "The Hugo Wolf Society." These 78rpm discs were prized at the time for the caliber of the participating artists—headlined by the mezzo-soprano and lieder specialist Elena Gerhardt—and the passing of years has only burnished their reputation. (They were subsequently released on LP in 1981 and on CD in 1998.)
But the posthumous attention for Wolf that these recordings established can be counted among the many casualties of World War II, and it wasn't until 1953 that the composer re-emerged in the public consciousness. That year, the 50th anniversary of Wolf's death, the soprano Elisabeth Schwarzkopf —soon to be the wife of Walter Legge, who had produced all the Wolf Society recordings—revived the Liederabend at the annual Salzburg Festival, where she devoted her entire program to Wolf's music, with no less than the great conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler accompanying her at the piano.
Wolf's sesquicentennial has not prompted celebrations of that caliber, though some attention has been paid. While iterations of the seminal Wolf Society recordings are now available only secondhand, EMI (the custodian of those recordings) did at least recently issue an eight-CD set titled "Hugo Wolf: The Anniversary Edition," featuring such venerable interpreters as Schwarzkopf and the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, as well as artists of more recent vintage like the mezzo-soprano Anne Sophie von Ottter and the tenor Ian Bostridge. And Deutsche Grammophon has done the composer a service by reissuing, on six CDs, the set of 175 Wolf songs that Mr. Fischer-Dieskau recorded with the pianist Daniel Barenboim in the mid-1970s. There have even been a handful of live events to honor the anniversary—including a celebration in Baltimore that featured the bass-baritone John Shirley-Quirk, the Wolf scholar Susan Youens and the critic Anne Midgette.
Such relatively muted tributes are unlikely to ignite a Wolf revival on par with what's come before, but it's heartening to observe that there are still music lovers who find this composer's legacy worth celebrating. Of course Wolf's appeal was always limited and is likely to remain so. Or perhaps it's better to say that those wishing to discover and then savor this composer's genius have always had to make an effort. If so, such work is richly repaid with a trove of songs that stand at the summit of their art.
Mr. Mermelstein writes for the Journal on classical music and film.
Wonderful composer--all choral conductors should know his Sechs Geistliche Lieder. The Doblinger edition is the best one to get. They're quite challenging, but definitely rewarding for a good choir!
A Lifetime Dedicated to Dear Lieder
By DAVID MERMELSTEIN
We just can't help ourselves when it comes to marking the anniversaries of composers. Such rote celebration is practically Pavlovian. This year, for example, Schumann and Chopin—each born in 1810—received such attention. As did, to a lesser extent, Samuel Barber, born a century later. And though the year did see some acknowledgment of the 150th anniversary of Mahler's birth, there will be even greater focus on him in 2011, the centenary of his death. But before this year ends, it's worth noting that 2010 also marks the 150th birthday of a much less famous figure, and one who could actually benefit from such feting: Hugo Wolf, born in 1860 into what was then the Austrian Empire.Wolf's comparative obscurity should not belie his importance, though when it comes to his legacy the two are connected. Wolf achieved greatness by composing lieder, or German art songs. But unlike Schubert and Schumann, on whose efforts in the form he expanded, Wolf composed little else of note, aside from his brisk "Italian Serenade" and lilting "Intermezzo," both for string quartet. His other scores—including one completed opera and some orchestral works—hold little interest.
Hugo Wolf, born in 1860.
Alas, art song, with its delicate marriage of poetry and music, has never enjoyed mass appeal. It ostensibly lacks the brawn of symphonic works or the over-the-top drama of opera. But Wolf scaled new heights in this genre by communicating expansive feelings so effectively that one doesn't notice the compressed form—or rather, one appreciates his achievement all the more because of it.
Despite dying of syphilis shortly before he turned 43, in 1903, Wolf composed some 300 songs, the best of them settings of poems by the German writers Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Joseph von Eichendorff and Eduard Mörike. Though Wolf's lieder may lack the immediate tunefulness that characterizes so many of Schubert's songs—and plenty of Schumann's, too—the compatibility of his music and the poetry he chose to set more than compensates. (Schubert, by contrast, sometimes lavished his great melodic gifts on inferior verse.)
Many of Wolf's songs deal with love, yearning and despair—typical subjects for lieder. But despite the composer's own earnestness, not everything he wrote was as severe as his three "Harfenspieler" ("Harp-player") lieder, anguished laments based on poetry by Goethe. His setting of Eichendorff's "Der Musikant" ("The Wandering Minstrel"), by contrast, reveals a deep appreciation for charm. And he had a sense of humor, too, as is vividly displayed in his treatments of two Mörike poems: "Zur Warnung" ("As a Warning"), about the effects of a hangover, and "Abschied" ("Leave-Taking"), a decidedly joyous depiction of a critic tumbling down stairs. He even dabbled in magic- realism—with Mörike's "Storchenbotschaft" ("Stork Messengers"), in which a pair of storks inform a surprised shepherd that he's been doubly blessed.
Wolf got his first and most important boost into the mass market in 1931, when the English record company HMV released the first of six volumes in a subscription series called "The Hugo Wolf Society." These 78rpm discs were prized at the time for the caliber of the participating artists—headlined by the mezzo-soprano and lieder specialist Elena Gerhardt—and the passing of years has only burnished their reputation. (They were subsequently released on LP in 1981 and on CD in 1998.)
But the posthumous attention for Wolf that these recordings established can be counted among the many casualties of World War II, and it wasn't until 1953 that the composer re-emerged in the public consciousness. That year, the 50th anniversary of Wolf's death, the soprano Elisabeth Schwarzkopf —soon to be the wife of Walter Legge, who had produced all the Wolf Society recordings—revived the Liederabend at the annual Salzburg Festival, where she devoted her entire program to Wolf's music, with no less than the great conductor Wilhelm Furtwängler accompanying her at the piano.
Wolf's sesquicentennial has not prompted celebrations of that caliber, though some attention has been paid. While iterations of the seminal Wolf Society recordings are now available only secondhand, EMI (the custodian of those recordings) did at least recently issue an eight-CD set titled "Hugo Wolf: The Anniversary Edition," featuring such venerable interpreters as Schwarzkopf and the baritone Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, as well as artists of more recent vintage like the mezzo-soprano Anne Sophie von Ottter and the tenor Ian Bostridge. And Deutsche Grammophon has done the composer a service by reissuing, on six CDs, the set of 175 Wolf songs that Mr. Fischer-Dieskau recorded with the pianist Daniel Barenboim in the mid-1970s. There have even been a handful of live events to honor the anniversary—including a celebration in Baltimore that featured the bass-baritone John Shirley-Quirk, the Wolf scholar Susan Youens and the critic Anne Midgette.
Such relatively muted tributes are unlikely to ignite a Wolf revival on par with what's come before, but it's heartening to observe that there are still music lovers who find this composer's legacy worth celebrating. Of course Wolf's appeal was always limited and is likely to remain so. Or perhaps it's better to say that those wishing to discover and then savor this composer's genius have always had to make an effort. If so, such work is richly repaid with a trove of songs that stand at the summit of their art.
Mr. Mermelstein writes for the Journal on classical music and film.
Eric Whitacre on his article in Grammophone
There's been quite a bit of blowback about the Gramophone article and Eric Whitacre's about why he likes British choirs. His response is here (and printed below).
Tempest in a Teacup
Posted on December 27, 2010 at 6:55 am
In early November I was walking and talking with the editor of Gramophone magazine and he told me about an upcoming issue naming the world’s top 20 choirs. The jury that Gramophone had assembled had chosen mostly British choirs for the list, and as I had been spending so much time working with British groups he invited me to write a 500 word essay about this phenomenon. Although I was not on the jury, I am big fan of the British choral tradition, and of Gramophone, so I was honored and only too happy to write for the magazine.
When the article appeared in print a headline had been added to my article: “Composer Eric Whitacre on why British choirs are the Best.” That title was not written by me. I wrote, as asked, about what I admire about British choirs and what places them ‘up there’ with the world’s best.
If you read my entire article, you’ll notice that never once do I say that British choirs are better than other choirs. I write about how well they sing in tune; how brilliant and beautiful and clear the singing is; how knowledgeable they are as singers and artists. I do say that “the Brits MAY be the worlds best sight readers. In my travels I’ve never seen anything like it”, and I will stand by that statement – I’ve personally never seen anything like it. I write about all of the things I love about British choirs but never once do I compare British choirs to any other choirs from different countries. I never would.
At the end of the day, I was asked to write about my love of British choirs, so that is what I did. If I would have been asked to write about my love of American choirs, I would have written a completely different article, about the American choir’s extraordinary stylistic range, their deep understanding of the texts, their natural musicianship, their freedom of sound. And I would have written different articles had I been asked to write about my love of Scandinavian choirs, or Asian choirs, or European choirs, or African choirs, or Australian choirs, or South American choirs. It’s true, I absolutely adore British choirs. But I adore all choirs, and all singing, wherever it may be happening. I feel grateful to live in a world where we can all sing together – no competitions, no lists, just beauty and truth expressed through our shared voices.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Alfred Brendel--still active in "retirement"
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/classicalmusic/8221582/Alfred-Brendel-old-master-in-search-of-new-horizons.html
Alfred Brendel: old master in search of new horizons
Approaching 80, Alfred Brendel shows no sign of hanging up his hat.
Alfred Brendel: impressed by English musical life
For a man who officially retired from performing two years ago and is approaching his 80th birthday, Alfred Brendel has a remarkably packed schedule. When I meet him he has just returned from giving a lecture series in Munich, and the next day is due to talk on “Character in Music in Beethoven’s 32 Piano Sonatas” at the Wigmore Hall. He’s also about to bring out a collected edition of his poems (in German and English) and next month will be giving master classes in Paris.
With all this hectic activity, Brendel has hardly had time to miss the concert platform, and certainly gives no sign of it. “Well, it seemed the right time. Ideally I would like to have just quietly stopped without telling anyone, so I could avoid all those farewell parties, with the tears I did not shed!”
He laughs, clearly relishing the memory of disobeying a social convention. “The Pianist Who Was Stony-faced as the Audience Wept” could be the title of one of his subversively humorous poems, which often reflect the idea of something uncouth and outrageous bursting through a civilised veneer. This is something Brendel enjoys hugely, and here and there evidence of it peeps out. Perched in mock triumph on piles of learned books on the mantelpiece are little grotesque figures, including a grinning alligator in a dress and bonnet (“Yes, that came from New Orleans,” he says, peering at it fondly).
This is the safety valve for the iron control and meticulous forethought that has always marked his life — including his retirement. “I mapped out exactly what I would do when I retired. For a long time I had a literary life – not a hobby, a second life,” he says, eyeing me to be sure I’ve grasped the distinction, “and it was nice to pursue lecturing and writing in a more focused way.”
That sense of a person absolutely in control was there from the beginning. Brendel had an unusual, peripatetic life as a child. His businessman father was constantly on the move, and the family travelled round various middle-sized middle-European cities. Being remote from any musical centre, and growing up in an unmusical family (one gets the sense the parents were in awe of their gifted, self-assured boy), Brendel was driven in on himself. “I was never over-ambitious,” he says, picking nervily at the protective Elastoplasts he’s wearing on a finger and thumb (he illustrates his lectures at the piano, so he hasn’t quite stopped performing). “I had an idea when I was 20 that I wanted to reach a certain standard by the time I was 50. The pianists I really admired like Kempff and Fischer were mostly in their fifties and sixties. When I reached that age, I thought, well I’ve done most of the things I wanted to do but there is still room to do more.”
He makes the story sound as inevitable and unhurried as a fruit ripening. But did he not get frustrated at the slow progress? “No, I was very glad that my career grew slowly and not because of publicity or hype. Also it meant I had time to acquire a big repertoire. When I was 25 I had 10 completely different recital programmes. Young pianist nowadays who get famous overnight do not have that.”
Moving at a slow pace meant that Brendel could devote time to unfashionable things. He championed Liszt’s grandiose romantic piano music decades before it became fashionable. “I was one of the first to play the complete Years of Pilgrimmage cycle,” he says, “and also those extraordinary, very late pieces where Liszt really foreshadows modern music. When you put these pieces next to Schoenberg’s Opus 19 set of piano pieces you realise they belong to the same world.”
Mentioning Liszt brings us on to other composers who’ve risen in public estimation during Brendel’s 60-odd years in music. “There’s the general acceptance of Mahler as a great composer,” he says, “which interestingly runs in parallel with the recognition of Schubert sonatas. Even more recent is the international triumph of Bruckner, which has surprised me. I always imagined he would fade away when the great Bruckner conductors I saw in Vienna died. The biggest change and for me one of the most beautiful is the recognition of Handel’s operas, which came from this country and spread round the world. You know how the Germans insisted Bach was the great baroque composer, but now they put Handel and Bach side by side. I approve of this, I understand exactly why Beethoven admired Handel so much.”
This, and the recent upsurge in brilliant young violins and singers (“wonderful, there’s never been anything quite like it”) arouse Brendel’s enthusiasm. I point out he’s starting to sound almost optimistic, which is surprising from someone who described himself as a pessimist. “A pessimist about most things, but an optimist about music,” he corrects me. It doesn’t take long for a pessimistic note to creep in. Like many intellectuals who were formed as the supremacy of “High Culture” was drawing to a close, he’s bewildered by modern cultural life. “I am not quite reconciled to seeing the pop reviews in the newspapers,” he says. But he points out with a glint a pride that his daughter Doris is a rock singer-songwriter.
These days Brendel spends more time in Germany and Austria, and I wonder whether this points to a homing instinct for German-speaking culture. “No, I am still glad I settled here [in 1971]. London became a great musical capital, thanks to William Glock [a radical reforming director of the Proms during the Sixties and Seventies]. Britain became much more international then. Also this is a very musical nation. I was very struck when I first came to England by the quality of the choirs, professional and amateur. They were so superior to anything I had heard in Europe.”
But that doesn’t mean Brendel has gone native. “I’m happy to speak and count and think in English, but I’m not someone who needs or wants to be rooted. I want to be as cosmopolitan as possible. I had the good fortune not to grow up in one place. I prefer to be a paying guest. It’s a lesson I learnt in the war, to be suspicious of nationalism.”
Just as he was in his twenties, Brendel is still keen on self-improvement, still searching for new horizons. “You know, even though I have stopped playing, my musicality is still developing,” he says. “I notice it when I teach that the clarity and speed of my musical vision has actually improved. If I could play Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy today with the physical condition of 30 years ago that would be ideal, as I have a much clearer idea what to do with it now.”
So much self-possession is intimidating. It’s only at the end, as I’m getting ready to leave, that a chink appears in his armour. “You know, when I retired I was sure everyone would forget about me. It’s very nice to be proved wrong!”
Moving at a slow pace meant that Brendel could devote time to unfashionable things. He championed Liszt’s grandiose romantic piano music decades before it became fashionable. “I was one of the first to play the complete Years of Pilgrimmage cycle,” he says, “and also those extraordinary, very late pieces where Liszt really foreshadows modern music. When you put these pieces next to Schoenberg’s Opus 19 set of piano pieces you realise they belong to the same world.”
Mentioning Liszt brings us on to other composers who’ve risen in public estimation during Brendel’s 60-odd years in music. “There’s the general acceptance of Mahler as a great composer,” he says, “which interestingly runs in parallel with the recognition of Schubert sonatas. Even more recent is the international triumph of Bruckner, which has surprised me. I always imagined he would fade away when the great Bruckner conductors I saw in Vienna died. The biggest change and for me one of the most beautiful is the recognition of Handel’s operas, which came from this country and spread round the world. You know how the Germans insisted Bach was the great baroque composer, but now they put Handel and Bach side by side. I approve of this, I understand exactly why Beethoven admired Handel so much.”
This, and the recent upsurge in brilliant young violins and singers (“wonderful, there’s never been anything quite like it”) arouse Brendel’s enthusiasm. I point out he’s starting to sound almost optimistic, which is surprising from someone who described himself as a pessimist. “A pessimist about most things, but an optimist about music,” he corrects me. It doesn’t take long for a pessimistic note to creep in. Like many intellectuals who were formed as the supremacy of “High Culture” was drawing to a close, he’s bewildered by modern cultural life. “I am not quite reconciled to seeing the pop reviews in the newspapers,” he says. But he points out with a glint a pride that his daughter Doris is a rock singer-songwriter.
These days Brendel spends more time in Germany and Austria, and I wonder whether this points to a homing instinct for German-speaking culture. “No, I am still glad I settled here [in 1971]. London became a great musical capital, thanks to William Glock [a radical reforming director of the Proms during the Sixties and Seventies]. Britain became much more international then. Also this is a very musical nation. I was very struck when I first came to England by the quality of the choirs, professional and amateur. They were so superior to anything I had heard in Europe.”
But that doesn’t mean Brendel has gone native. “I’m happy to speak and count and think in English, but I’m not someone who needs or wants to be rooted. I want to be as cosmopolitan as possible. I had the good fortune not to grow up in one place. I prefer to be a paying guest. It’s a lesson I learnt in the war, to be suspicious of nationalism.”
Just as he was in his twenties, Brendel is still keen on self-improvement, still searching for new horizons. “You know, even though I have stopped playing, my musicality is still developing,” he says. “I notice it when I teach that the clarity and speed of my musical vision has actually improved. If I could play Schubert’s Wanderer Fantasy today with the physical condition of 30 years ago that would be ideal, as I have a much clearer idea what to do with it now.”
So much self-possession is intimidating. It’s only at the end, as I’m getting ready to leave, that a chink appears in his armour. “You know, when I retired I was sure everyone would forget about me. It’s very nice to be proved wrong!”
- To mark Alfred Brendel’s 80th birthday, Decca Records releases four CD sets, including a Birthday Tribute, which contains his favourite live recordings of Mozart’s C Major Concerto K503 and Brahms’s First Piano Concerto. Brendel’s Collected Poems are published in a new bilingual edition by Phaidon Press.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
English Choirmasters select their favorite and least favorite carols
From an article in the Telegraph:
Matthew Owens
Organist & Master of the Choristers, Wells Cathedral
Matthew Owens
Organist & Master of the Choristers, Wells Cathedral
Favourite: Wellcome All Wonders in One Sight! A beautiful setting by contemporary composer Jonathan Dove of words written by the metaphysical poet Richard Crashaw (1612-49)
Least Favourite: There are none of which I would say “never again”, although I am not overly fond of While Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night.
Neglected: Bethlehem Down offers some of the best theology (Bruce Blunt) and music (Peter Warlock) in the repertoire.
James Lancelot
Master of the Choristers and Organist, Durham Cathedral
Favourite: See Amid the Winter’s Snow (words by Edward Caswall, music by John Goss) has a gentle holiness and humanity that stand the test of time, combining a contemplative narrative with outbursts of joy.
Least Favourite: I certainly wouldn’t want to dispense with Away in a Manger, which has childhood memories for so many of us. But it is in danger of becoming hackneyed, and it would be lovely to hear it sung occasionally to an alternative tune. There is a delightful Normandy melody for it, which makes a refreshing change, even if it will never catch on as standard.
Neglected: Andrew Carter’s Mary’s Magnificat. Carter, who was 70 last year, has been a rich but unassuming contributor to the English choral repertoire. This peaceful lullaby setting combines words by the composer himself with those of the Magnificat from St Luke’s Gospel.
Aric Prentice
Director of Music, Lincoln Cathedral
Favourite: John Rutter’s What Sweeter Music. Lovely poem by Robert Herrick, with a lilting singable tune and piquant harmonies. It captures the spirit of Christmas and is just right for the carol service on Christmas Eve with a congregation of 2,500 in the freezing cold.
Least Favourite: The First Nowell. Far too much use of a D major scale and too repetitive.
Neglected: Herbert Howells’s Long, Long Ago. It has some tricky moments, especially being a cappella, but the final “Christ was born in Bethlehem to heal the world’s woe” is sublime.
Andrew Lumsden
Director of Music, Winchester Cathedral
Favourite: John Gardner’s Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day. It’s just such fun and never fails to put a smile on audience and performer alike.
Least favourite: The First Nowell. Six verses of what is basically one line of music repeated three times in each verse is enough for anyone.
Neglected: Wither’s Rocking Hymn. The beautiful words by George Wither are set to a lilting tune by Ralph Vaughan Williams, with a haunting refrain, and it works beautifully as a cradle song. The downside is that there are officially 12 verses.
Adrian Partington
Director of Music, Gloucester Cathedral
Favourite: Jan Sweelinck’s Hodie Christus Natus Est.
Least Favourite: John Tavener’s The Lamb.
Neglected: John Joubert’s Of a Rose, a Lovely Rose.
David Flood
Master of the Choristers and Organist, Canterbury Cathedral
Favourite: In the Bleak Midwinter, to the setting by Sir Henry Walford Davies.
Least Favourite: There aren’t really any carols that I wouldn’t want to hear again. We have to enjoy them to help others enjoy them!
Neglected: The Tyrolean carol, Falan-Tidings (Out of the Orient Crystal Skies).
Stephen Darlington
Organist, Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford
Favourite: John Gardner’s Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day.
Least Favourite: John Joubert’s Torches.
Neglected: Little Star of Bethlehem by Charles Ives. Both words and music are by the composer. It’s compelling and poignant in its simplicity and directness, moving but not over-sentimental.
David Lowe
Master of the Music, Norwich Cathedral
Favourite: Gustav Holst’s version of` Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day always makes the hairs on the back of my neck stick up.
Least Favourite: The First Nowell drags on and on, and is so tiring to sing that I would happily never hear it again.
Neglected: Peter Warlock’s Cornish Christmas Carol is well worth a try – even in the original Cornish.
Master of the Choristers and Organist, Durham Cathedral
Favourite: See Amid the Winter’s Snow (words by Edward Caswall, music by John Goss) has a gentle holiness and humanity that stand the test of time, combining a contemplative narrative with outbursts of joy.
Least Favourite: I certainly wouldn’t want to dispense with Away in a Manger, which has childhood memories for so many of us. But it is in danger of becoming hackneyed, and it would be lovely to hear it sung occasionally to an alternative tune. There is a delightful Normandy melody for it, which makes a refreshing change, even if it will never catch on as standard.
Neglected: Andrew Carter’s Mary’s Magnificat. Carter, who was 70 last year, has been a rich but unassuming contributor to the English choral repertoire. This peaceful lullaby setting combines words by the composer himself with those of the Magnificat from St Luke’s Gospel.
Aric Prentice
Director of Music, Lincoln Cathedral
Favourite: John Rutter’s What Sweeter Music. Lovely poem by Robert Herrick, with a lilting singable tune and piquant harmonies. It captures the spirit of Christmas and is just right for the carol service on Christmas Eve with a congregation of 2,500 in the freezing cold.
Least Favourite: The First Nowell. Far too much use of a D major scale and too repetitive.
Neglected: Herbert Howells’s Long, Long Ago. It has some tricky moments, especially being a cappella, but the final “Christ was born in Bethlehem to heal the world’s woe” is sublime.
Andrew Lumsden
Director of Music, Winchester Cathedral
Favourite: John Gardner’s Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day. It’s just such fun and never fails to put a smile on audience and performer alike.
Least favourite: The First Nowell. Six verses of what is basically one line of music repeated three times in each verse is enough for anyone.
Neglected: Wither’s Rocking Hymn. The beautiful words by George Wither are set to a lilting tune by Ralph Vaughan Williams, with a haunting refrain, and it works beautifully as a cradle song. The downside is that there are officially 12 verses.
Adrian Partington
Director of Music, Gloucester Cathedral
Favourite: Jan Sweelinck’s Hodie Christus Natus Est.
Least Favourite: John Tavener’s The Lamb.
Neglected: John Joubert’s Of a Rose, a Lovely Rose.
David Flood
Master of the Choristers and Organist, Canterbury Cathedral
Favourite: In the Bleak Midwinter, to the setting by Sir Henry Walford Davies.
Least Favourite: There aren’t really any carols that I wouldn’t want to hear again. We have to enjoy them to help others enjoy them!
Neglected: The Tyrolean carol, Falan-Tidings (Out of the Orient Crystal Skies).
Stephen Darlington
Organist, Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford
Favourite: John Gardner’s Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day.
Least Favourite: John Joubert’s Torches.
Neglected: Little Star of Bethlehem by Charles Ives. Both words and music are by the composer. It’s compelling and poignant in its simplicity and directness, moving but not over-sentimental.
David Lowe
Master of the Music, Norwich Cathedral
Favourite: Gustav Holst’s version of` Tomorrow Shall Be My Dancing Day always makes the hairs on the back of my neck stick up.
Least Favourite: The First Nowell drags on and on, and is so tiring to sing that I would happily never hear it again.
Neglected: Peter Warlock’s Cornish Christmas Carol is well worth a try – even in the original Cornish.
John Alldis dies
John Alldis was a British conductor who gained a particular reputation for conducting contemporary music. I knew a number of his recordings and always appreciated his work. I know he also spent some time working with the Swedish Radio Choir--he was one of a number of guests that did work with the choir at the invitation of Eric Ericson.
The article can be found here.
The John Alldis Choir, a 16-strong force, announced itself in 1962 with the premiere of Alexander Goehr’s A Little Cantata of Proverbs. A series of new works followed, including the premiere of Stravinsky’s Requiem Canticles at the Edinburgh Festival in 1967, for which Alldis rehearsed the choir but which was performed under Pierre Boulez.
Indeed Alldis, like many choir masters, spent much time preparing singers whose performances would be credited to a big-name conductor. The Colin Davis recording of Handel’s Messiah from 1966, with a pared-down LSO Chorus (effectively the John Alldis Choir), was said to have “shattered previous conceptions of Messiah”.
During the 1960s composers such as Goehr, Malcolm Williamson and Harrison Birtwistle were pushing the boundaries of contemporary music. While orchestras and chamber ensembles were willing to take them up, there were few takers in the choral world. Alldis was convinced that there were unexplored possibilities. “There is a feeling that [choral music] hasn’t been carried to its logical conclusion,” he once said.
A review of the choir’s Wigmore Hall concert in May 1966 referred to it as “one of the great chamber choirs”; while at the Bath Festival in 1981 the audience at a sleepy country church was jolted awake by the first performance of Birtwistle’s madrigal On the Sheer Threshold of the Night.
The article can be found here.
John Alldis
John Alldis, who died on December 20 aged 81, was a distinguished choral conductor.
John Alldis
Through his eponymous choir, Alldis was responsible for introducing the British public to some of the more eclectic contemporary music of the last century; he also worked with Pink Floyd and Duke Ellington, established a permanent chorus for the London Symphony Orchestra and wrote pantomime music.
The John Alldis Choir, a 16-strong force, announced itself in 1962 with the premiere of Alexander Goehr’s A Little Cantata of Proverbs. A series of new works followed, including the premiere of Stravinsky’s Requiem Canticles at the Edinburgh Festival in 1967, for which Alldis rehearsed the choir but which was performed under Pierre Boulez.
Indeed Alldis, like many choir masters, spent much time preparing singers whose performances would be credited to a big-name conductor. The Colin Davis recording of Handel’s Messiah from 1966, with a pared-down LSO Chorus (effectively the John Alldis Choir), was said to have “shattered previous conceptions of Messiah”.
During the 1960s composers such as Goehr, Malcolm Williamson and Harrison Birtwistle were pushing the boundaries of contemporary music. While orchestras and chamber ensembles were willing to take them up, there were few takers in the choral world. Alldis was convinced that there were unexplored possibilities. “There is a feeling that [choral music] hasn’t been carried to its logical conclusion,” he once said.
A review of the choir’s Wigmore Hall concert in May 1966 referred to it as “one of the great chamber choirs”; while at the Bath Festival in 1981 the audience at a sleepy country church was jolted awake by the first performance of Birtwistle’s madrigal On the Sheer Threshold of the Night.
Meanwhile, when Pink Floyd needed a choir for Atom Heart Mother in 1970 they turned to Alldis; the next year he wrote a score for a pantomime of Humpty Dumpty in Guildford; and Duke Ellington’s final recording, Sacred Concert, made at Westminster Abbey in October 1973, was accompanied by the choir.
Although there were guest appointments with orchestras such as the Hallé in Manchester, if Alldis was disappointed at not making a career as an orchestral conductor, he rarely let it show. “I wouldn’t be able to compete with Solti, I don’t think,” he once said.
John Trevor Alldis was born at Ilford on August 10 1929 and educated at Felsted School in Essex. After National Service he went on a choral scholarship to King’s College, Cambridge, where he studied under Boris Ord.
After a decade during which he taught in Guildford and was director of music at Holy Trinity church, Prince Consort Road, in Kensington, he founded his choir with the support of some leading contemporary composers. In May 1962, for example, a concert at Holy Trinity featured music by Palestrina alongside Symphony for Voices, a setting of five poems by James McAuley written for the occasion by Williamson.
The London Symphony Orchestra, founded in 1904, had hitherto hired an outside choir for its choral works. In 1966 it turned to Alldis, then newly appointed as director of the choir of the Guildhall School of Music (a post he held until 1979).
After three years he moved to the London Philharmonic Choir to succeed Frederic Jackson, remaining in the post until 1982. He was in such demand with choirs and choral societies across Europe, however, that they eventually had to appoint an official deputy to take many of his rehearsals.
Alldis worked with many other ensembles, including the Danish State Radio Chorus (1971-77), the American Choral Symposium in Kansas (1978-87), the Cameran Singers in Israel (1989-90) — where the critics gave him a rough ride — and the Netherlands Chamber Choir (1985-98).
The French, envious of the British contemporary music scene, had established the Ensemble Intercontemporain under Boulez in 1976. They now wanted a choral group of similar standing to explore contemporary classical music, and Alldis was drafted in to create the Groupe Vocal de France, which he ran from 1979 to 1983. As well as with Boulez, there were opportunities to work with Messiaen and other leading French musicians.
In the 1990s Alldis worked in Japan and China, conducting one of the first performances of Messiah in the latter, but he never neglected music closer to home, directing the Wimbledon Symphony Orchestra from 1971 until he suffered a stroke in 2004.
The advent of the licence-fee-funded BBC Singers gradually put paid to the John Alldis Choir, but its legacy is secure thanks to a wide-ranging catalogue of discs, particularly with Sir Adrian Boult, who was a great encouragement in its early days.
Alldis was nominated for Grammy Awards for his choral work in 1974 (with Boult) and 1978 (with Sir Georg Solti), and in 1994 was appointed Chevalier de L’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres.
He enjoyed sailing his dinghy in The Solent and was widely read, especially enjoying the works of PG Wodehouse.
Choir members, he once said, should be treated as individual musicians, with the conductor drawing the optimum performance from each singer. “I don’t think there is such a thing as a chorister, one of a flock of sheep to do one’s bidding,” he said.
John Alldis married, in 1960, the violinist Ursula Mason. She survives him, as do two sons, one of whom, Dominic, is a prominent jazz musician.
Although there were guest appointments with orchestras such as the Hallé in Manchester, if Alldis was disappointed at not making a career as an orchestral conductor, he rarely let it show. “I wouldn’t be able to compete with Solti, I don’t think,” he once said.
John Trevor Alldis was born at Ilford on August 10 1929 and educated at Felsted School in Essex. After National Service he went on a choral scholarship to King’s College, Cambridge, where he studied under Boris Ord.
After a decade during which he taught in Guildford and was director of music at Holy Trinity church, Prince Consort Road, in Kensington, he founded his choir with the support of some leading contemporary composers. In May 1962, for example, a concert at Holy Trinity featured music by Palestrina alongside Symphony for Voices, a setting of five poems by James McAuley written for the occasion by Williamson.
The London Symphony Orchestra, founded in 1904, had hitherto hired an outside choir for its choral works. In 1966 it turned to Alldis, then newly appointed as director of the choir of the Guildhall School of Music (a post he held until 1979).
After three years he moved to the London Philharmonic Choir to succeed Frederic Jackson, remaining in the post until 1982. He was in such demand with choirs and choral societies across Europe, however, that they eventually had to appoint an official deputy to take many of his rehearsals.
Alldis worked with many other ensembles, including the Danish State Radio Chorus (1971-77), the American Choral Symposium in Kansas (1978-87), the Cameran Singers in Israel (1989-90) — where the critics gave him a rough ride — and the Netherlands Chamber Choir (1985-98).
The French, envious of the British contemporary music scene, had established the Ensemble Intercontemporain under Boulez in 1976. They now wanted a choral group of similar standing to explore contemporary classical music, and Alldis was drafted in to create the Groupe Vocal de France, which he ran from 1979 to 1983. As well as with Boulez, there were opportunities to work with Messiaen and other leading French musicians.
In the 1990s Alldis worked in Japan and China, conducting one of the first performances of Messiah in the latter, but he never neglected music closer to home, directing the Wimbledon Symphony Orchestra from 1971 until he suffered a stroke in 2004.
The advent of the licence-fee-funded BBC Singers gradually put paid to the John Alldis Choir, but its legacy is secure thanks to a wide-ranging catalogue of discs, particularly with Sir Adrian Boult, who was a great encouragement in its early days.
Alldis was nominated for Grammy Awards for his choral work in 1974 (with Boult) and 1978 (with Sir Georg Solti), and in 1994 was appointed Chevalier de L’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres.
He enjoyed sailing his dinghy in The Solent and was widely read, especially enjoying the works of PG Wodehouse.
Choir members, he once said, should be treated as individual musicians, with the conductor drawing the optimum performance from each singer. “I don’t think there is such a thing as a chorister, one of a flock of sheep to do one’s bidding,” he said.
John Alldis married, in 1960, the violinist Ursula Mason. She survives him, as do two sons, one of whom, Dominic, is a prominent jazz musician.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Grammophone's Best Choirs in the World
This article in the Grammophone listing the best choirs in the world (most from Great Britain, none from the US) has generated some interesting heat. It included a short essay by Eric Whitacre on why British choirs are the best. Take a look there first.
Then here a very interesting response and interview of James Inverne of the Grammophone on an NPR blog:
What do you think?
Then here a very interesting response and interview of James Inverne of the Grammophone on an NPR blog:
With an estimated 42.6 million people singing in American choirs today, there are bound to be a few voices raised in opposition to a new article in the magazine Gramophone that hits the U.S. newsstands this week.
Titled "The 20 Greatest Choirs," the article ranks the world's best ensembles, and finds America lacking. There isn't a single U.S. group on the list. Indeed, most of the choirs that made the rankings were British. Which led me to wonder: Are English choirs really that much better than those everywhere else? And why isn't there a single American chorus listed?
To find some answers, I sought out James Inverne, the editor of Gramophone, for this e-mail conversation about his choir rankings.
Tom Huizenga (NPR): What gave you the idea to rank the world’s choirs in the first place?
James Inverne (Gramophone): It seemed to me that there's a real excitement around choirs at the moment, as well as a great feeling of what you might call social relevance. Of course, I'd argue that all great music and art has relevance, but in the U.K. and elsewhere, choirs have been bringing together fractured and disadvantaged communities, acting in some measure as a unifying force in society. So, there have been various TV shows and the like that have arisen from this, and they in turn have increased that interest.
Also, a couple of years ago, Gramophone ran a "World's Best Orchestras" feature that attracted a huge amount of attention in the media and among music lovers. It's still regularly cited pretty well every month, even today. I had been hesitating to run a follow-up, as doing these things for the sake of it can make them seem trivial, but this seemed like the right project and the right time.
TH: There seems to be something hardwired in us that craves rankings and Top 10 lists, isn't there? Can we think of this new ranking as a kind of Consumer Reports for Choirs?
The Monteverdi Choir earned top spot in Gramophone's "Best Choirs of the World" list.
JI: Yes, with a couple of caveats, it's as close as we can get to it with something as non-scientific as artistic performance. We put together a jury of 13 of the world's leading authorities on the subject, so you're getting as informed a balance opinion as it's possible to get. My two caveats though, are that — firstly — I asked the jury to base its voting on recordings above all, given that choirs tend to be more local and travel less than, say, orchestras. And so there are a couple of magnificent choirs who haven't recorded for a while, such as St. Johns of Cambridge, who miss out because of that. If we ran the poll again in a year St. Johns could well have made it in and made it to a high place. My second slight red flag would only be to point out that the standard here is exceptionally high — we're talking about the elite of the elite — and there are many other choirs who one might justifiably consider in the highest league for choirs. Whoever came in at No. 22 might not have made our published list, but they're still going to be one heck of a choir.
And yes, you're right that we seem to love lists. I think that's partly about wanting to seek out and experience the best, and partly what we Brits would call "pub argument syndrome" — fans of any kind love discussing and arguing over rankings. But that's not a bad thing because it keeps us engaged, and hopefully this will provoke and inspire people to go and discover some wonderful choirs and choral recordings!
TH: You mentioned your previous list of the world’s best orchestras. That sparked a bit of controversy, and I'm assuming this choirs list will also. For instance, out of the 20 choirs ranked, there isn't a single American choir. I can hear a collective "ouch" being groaned by many of our 42 million choristers in this country. Why did no American choirs make your list?
JI: Yes, that's an interesting one. There was an American contigent on our jury, for the record! I think some of it can be explained by the fact that not many of the leading American choirs seem to record regularly. But I'd also say that there's nothing like the depth of choral tradition in the U.S. that there is in the U.K., thanks to the Anglican church. The sheer volume and intensity of the activities of the church choirs here, the amount of commissioning of new work that occurs and that informs the rest of the repertoire, have become part of the wider culture here. It means, in effect, that you get elite squads of choristers who operate at an almost unbelievably high level every single day.Another British choir, Polyphony, took second place in the Gramophone rankings.
The American composer Eric Whitacre, who has just emerged as the hot new thing in choral music (by the way, I do recommend his new album Light and Gold) contributes a rather fascinating essay to our article in which he suggests specific reasons — having to do with tuning, tone, sight-reading and other factors — why Brit choirs are so far ahead of the pack, and perhaps by implication why Amercian choirs aren't generally in that place yet.
I think — and this is to hugely generalize — that there's something of a view among critics that American choirs have traditionally not been as versatile in terms of tone as some of their European rivals. I remember one conductor recently telling me that the first time he conducted a leading U.S. choir, they didn't really have a tradition of wanting to sing quietly. Partly that's because you tend to get these vast concert halls in America and the temptation is to think that a more slender sound won't reach the back rows, which usually isn't the case.
I do think though that things are changing. I have heard from various conductors in recent years that the major American choirs are becoming more versatile. And certainly they're also recording more. The Handel and Haydn Society in Boston for instance has just started working with the marvelous conductor Harry Christophers, and have made their first CD for a while, a really terrific recording of Mozart's Mass in C Minor.
There are some great choirs in the States though, so I am surprised that some of them didn't make it in.
TH: So, when I first read through the rankings, noticing there wasn't a single American choir in the list, I began thinking, "Well, which American choirs would be in the running?" It’s funny, that although I could come up with a few for sure (Chanticleer, who do record a lot; the Los Angeles Master Chorale, the nine-time Grammy winning Atlanta Symphony Orchestra Chorus, Musica Sacra) the list was rather small compared to my favorite British choirs, a list which is indeed easily three times as long. I even spoke to one of this country's leading choral conductors, and while he chuckled at the rankings, his own list of great American choirs did not come tripping easily off the tongue.
OK, leaving the Americans behind (even with Mr. Whitacre's blessing), the British choirs completely dominated the list. Over half of the 20 choirs — and all of the top five — are British. I'm sure you've had to field the volley: "well, it's a British magazine, they are going to be partial to their compatriots."
JI: Yes, Chanticleer, above all, was among the choirs I was really surprised didn't make it on the American front. And I'd be the last person to hear a word against them so, if only out of annoyance that they didn't make our list, I think all readers should immediately go out and buy a Chanticleer disc (and the others you mention) to hear what we're missing! That's part of the point of the list — to focus attention on choirs so that not only our top 20 but all fine choirs get talked and argued about and more people discover them as a result.
I'm afraid the "we're Brits waving the flag" charge is a red herring. Our jury included judges from (deep breath) Russia, Germany, America, Brazil and Australia as well as the U.K. and even the non-British judges tended to vote overwhelmingly for British choirs. Added to which, our best orchestras list of two years ago only saw only a single British orchestra — the London Symphony Orchestra (beaten by orchestras from Holland, Germany and Austria). The reviewers we use are very conscientious, world-leading music reviewers who wouldn't as a matter of principle allow their judgment to be swayed by notions of national pride. It's just that in this case, and for all the strength in the field of countries like Germany and even Estonia and Sweden, the Brits really do show the way. Listen, we're not much good at soccer any more, so it's a good job we still have something to be proud of!
TH: OK, the Brits "rule" the chorale empire. I get it; and frankly, the English choirs listed are amazing. But, should we assume, then, that the rankings imply that a British choir can sing something like Rachmaninov’s Vespers better than, say the St. Petersburg Chamber Choir, or the Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir, two excellent groups (especially the latter) who did not make it on the list?The excellent Estonian Philharmonic Chamber Choir did not make it on Gramophone's list of the world's best choirs.
JI: I'd never say that a great Russian choir won't bring something uniquely idiomatic to a Russian work or, say, an Italian choir to an Italian work. Have you heard the recent recording of Rossini's Stabat Mater under Antonio Pappano? His Academy of Santa Cecilia choir sounds incredible and when I spoke to Pappano about it recently he simply replied, "You don't need to tell them how to sing it, it's in their blood."
So these rankings give an overarching picture of the choirs' general levels. To nail that down more to specifics, our article includes explanations from commentators, conductors and singers about each of the choirs on the list (the conductor Sir Andrew Davis on being an organ scholar for King's College, Camrbidge in his early days is a fascinating insight into the busy-doesn't-begin-to-describe-it life of that choir, for instance). We've also included some themed break-out lists, such as "best liturgical choirs" and "top symphony choruses," some of which dip outside of the top 20. But for best performances of individual works I'd recommend the book Gramophone publishes, the Gramophone Classical Music Guide, which does exactly that. At all good retailers and e-tailers, ahem...
TH: Back to why British choirs are so good. You hinted at it earlier when you mentioned the Church of England. I was talking to Susanna Beiser, a good friend who sings here with the Cathedral Choral Society. She says:
"It's not necessarily some vague "Britishness" either, that makes their choirs so good. I think it's worth pointing out that it's the Church of England. The Anglicans rule choral music. The Catholics, on the other hand, to whom much of the repertoire rightfully belongs, have not sustained their music traditions as well, and their choirs mostly sound bad when they're not doing some guitar mass or something. But even before Vatican II, I don't think they were keeping up. From what I hear, the Church of England is in terrible shape, attendance-wise, and now with the move by a growing number of conservative Anglicans to reconcile with Rome, the choral tradition may end up being the primary contribution of 500 years of English Protestantism."
What do you think of her theory? And how will declining church attendance affect the strong choral tradition in England?
JI: As a nice Jewish boy, it's hard for me to know too much about the Church of England's internal affairs. But I'm not hearing that the choirs feel threatened. The thing is, that choral tradition has become such a part of British cultural heritage, it has in many ways now transcended its Anglican roots, which are still important to its maintenance but I suspect not quite as crucial as they once were. There's also something else. Aspiring singers, conductors and so on, know that they can get a fantastic grounding in their craft by becoming involved with the leading British choirs. Kings College, Cambridge alone, for instance, has produced in recent times the likes of Andrew Davis, bass-baritone Gerald Finley, tenors Mark Padmore and James Gilchrist and many more. So the talent is naturally gravitating to the choirs, to the benefit of both. Now where are the Jewish choirs of that level, that's what I'd like to know!
TH: Well, I’m sure you’ll be hearing about this "Greatest Choirs" list for some time to come. You may get a few testy letters. You know, the next step you might want to take could be a "Battle of the Choirs" sing-off … Say, Palestrina at 20 paces, at high noon? What do you say?
JI: How about the "Dies Irae" from Verdi's Requiem? Wouldn't want to get in the middle of that one!
What do you think?
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Sandow's Juilliard criticism class--reactions to Hunt-Lieberson's Ombra mai fu
Greg Sandow is a critic/thinker/writer about classical music and its future. His blog can be found here.
He's just taught a Juilliard course on criticism (course syllabus is here) and one of the assignments was to review two performances of Handel's Ombra mai fu, one with Lorraine Hunt Lieberson (truly a great singer and musician) and one with Renee Fleming. He reprints some of the student's comments about Hunt Lieberson, which I've copied below, along with a recording on YouTube of her performance:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9Jh7DF1nxY
Sandow also has a newsletter, see here, and subscribe (it's free).
He's just taught a Juilliard course on criticism (course syllabus is here) and one of the assignments was to review two performances of Handel's Ombra mai fu, one with Lorraine Hunt Lieberson (truly a great singer and musician) and one with Renee Fleming. He reprints some of the student's comments about Hunt Lieberson, which I've copied below, along with a recording on YouTube of her performance:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9Jh7DF1nxY
But enough prelude. Here are excerpts from what the students wrote about Hunt Lieberson's recording. As I said, they all heard the same thing. But look at how wonderfully they described it:Frankly, I wish I could take his course!
More simple and subtle.
She is one of the few singers today who knows how to sing piano.
Stunningly humble.
Her performance is masterfully understated.
In some inexplicable way, I am brought to peace.
I absolutely loved the way Lieberson truly 'crept' in on her first entrance and made such a perfectly gradated and controlled crescendo.
Her initial entrance was remarkably quiet and captivating.
As the aria begins, I was struck by the absolute serenity of this recording.
In the beginning, Hunt's subtle entrance, as her soft "A" warms up the sound of the string ensemble, embodies inner strength, as if it is a reflection of things past.
From Lieberson's first entrance I could feel the wind: a wind which always starts from nothing, but always there
When she first enters after the introduction, it's as if she's caressing your skin slowly as she crescendos to the peak of that phrase.
Note that they didn't just agree on the general character of the performance. They all agreed that a particular moment was especially wonderful. They hear music clearly, and describe it quite wonderfully.
Sandow also has a newsletter, see here, and subscribe (it's free).
Gunther Schuller at 85
And you think you're busy!
From the Wall Street Journal:
Man of Many Music Careers
By JOHN EDWARD HASSE
Newton, Mass.
Most people slow down as they age. Not Gunther Schuller, who turned 85 this year and continues to work in many realms at a pace that would leave many 30-year-olds breathless. The musical Renaissance man has had, by his own accounting, seven often-simultaneous careers: As a French hornist, he got his first job with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra at age 17 and performed on Miles Davis's seminal "Birth of the Cool" recordings. As a conductor, he has served as musical director of the Berkshire Music Festival (now called Tanglewood) and has led orchestras throughout the world. He taught composition at Yale and as the dynamic president of the New England Conservatory of Music he doubled that school's size. For some years, he operated Margun Music and published a wide variety of classical and jazz music. As head of GM Records, he continues to work as a record producer.
He is perhaps best known as a composer—he has written seven substantial chamber- music works in the past year alone, including a horn quintet and his second piano trio—and as the author of two landmark studies of jazz, "Early Jazz" and "The Swing Era," as well as a controversial survey of orchestral conducting, "The Compleat Conductor." A musical thinker with a compelling story and much to say, he recently completed the first volume of his memoirs, which takes his story to 1960, when he gave up playing the French horn and began conducting (it is in production at the University of Rochester Press).
Although he doesn't count it as one of his careers, he's also been an eloquent champion of various streams of music, ranging from the marches of John Philip Sousa, the rags of Scott Joplin and the innovative jazz of Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus, to works by a host of classical composers from Bach to Ives to Weill.
His achievements have been recognized with a Pulitzer Prize and a MacArthur Foundation "genius" award, and the National Endowment for the Arts named him a Jazz Master for his advocacy.
"A lot of people assume that if you do more than one thing," Mr. Schuller said at his home here in this Boston suburb, "you cannot possibly be good in any of the other things other than the supposed, alleged primary thing that you do. This pigeonholing, typecasting—that's a vicious thing that the society puts on many people," he said. "The ordinary person assumes that you can't possibly do that and be any good in all of them. And yet, it is occasionally possible. I mean Lenny Bernstein, he wasn't quite in seven careers, but he was in four—and all of them at a very, very high level. We only need to mention Leonardo Da Vinci. My God. Or Jefferson.
"I have been very severely criticized for a long time in many circles for just doing too much. Even in two closely related things, you're not supposed to be able to be both a good conductor and a good composer. You've got to be one or the other in the business of music; you certainly better be just one thing. I learned that lesson pretty hard."
Mr. Schuller says he got interested in jazz at the age of 11 or 12 and started reading about it, but that "a lot of the books were anecdotal and sort of almost gossipy at times. So I decided, no, this music is such a great, important music. We have to treat it like serious music and analyze it, write about it historically. And when we say Ellington is the greatest composer—why? I decided to approach this whole project in a completely comprehensive way, meaning—and this had never been done—if I talked about someone, I was going to listen to every recording that person had ever made, or that band or whatever it was. I remember I listened to, for example, something like 565 recordings of Tommy Dorsey. By doing that, in many cases I discovered pieces that no one had ever written about, even mentioned, including some absolute masterpieces."
Mr. Schuller looked at not only the performances and improvised solos, but, as a composer, also the compositions themselves. "This comprehensive approach," he said, "was unique." He described his approach as "thorough—maybe it's also sort of my German background." (Born in New York City, he went to school in Germany until he was 10 years old.)
Long fascinated by the interplay of improvisation and composition, in 1957 he coined the term "third stream" to connote music—such as some works by John Lewis and Mr. Schuller himself—that blended classical music with jazz. In his writings on jazz he has held both improvisation and composition to close scrutiny. He examined the form of the pieces, including Ellington's innovations, explained how jazz's harmonic language advanced, and threw new light on the importance of arrangers and arrangements, most of all in big-band music. "To this day," he asserts, "even a lot of musicians, but certainly audiences, have no idea of the role that arrangers have played." Almost every band—Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Count Basie—had arrangers who shaped the band's sound more so than the leader or soloists. "It's the arrangers, and they were always in the backrooms doing the arranging and copying out the parts." They didn't get much public attention, but they do in Mr. Schuller's writings.
As principal hornist with the Metropolitan Opera orchestra, he lived in New York City from 1945 to 1959. "This is one of the great periods of jazz. So I would finish with 'Tristan und Isolde,' let's say, at 11:30 or something like that. My wife would meet me at the door and we'd walk up Broadway. Well, there were seven great jazz clubs on Broadway, and there would be this feast of jazz and you had trouble deciding where to go. Anyway, there's this incredible richness—and, I swear to you, Margie and I never slept. I'd finish the opera, and clubs in those days stopped at 4 a.m. And you know, by 9 a.m. or 10 a.m. I had a rehearsal already at the Met. Can you imagine what a fantastic life? Here I'm playing 'Tristan,' and Mozart's operas and Verdi's operas and Puccini and then I'm hearing Ellington and Basie and Dizzy Gillespie. I mean I get goose pimples just recalling this."
In surveying the American jazz scene today, by contrast, Mr. Schuller finds the number of night clubs "incredibly diminished, which means there are few places for jazz musicians to work." He notes there are few jazz radio stations left, and no jazz—or Beethoven—heard on commercial network television. He laments, "That's how diminished we are culturally."
Gunther Schuller has led—and continues to lead—one extraordinary life indeed. Considering his seven careers, eight-plus decades, countless accomplishments and memorable experiences, one can see why his memoirs will fill not one, but two, volumes.
Mr. Hasse is curator of American music at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History and co- author/co-producer of the forthcoming "Jazz: The Smithsonian Anthology."
Copyright 2010 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved
From the Wall Street Journal:
Man of Many Music Careers
By JOHN EDWARD HASSE
Newton, Mass.
Most people slow down as they age. Not Gunther Schuller, who turned 85 this year and continues to work in many realms at a pace that would leave many 30-year-olds breathless. The musical Renaissance man has had, by his own accounting, seven often-simultaneous careers: As a French hornist, he got his first job with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra at age 17 and performed on Miles Davis's seminal "Birth of the Cool" recordings. As a conductor, he has served as musical director of the Berkshire Music Festival (now called Tanglewood) and has led orchestras throughout the world. He taught composition at Yale and as the dynamic president of the New England Conservatory of Music he doubled that school's size. For some years, he operated Margun Music and published a wide variety of classical and jazz music. As head of GM Records, he continues to work as a record producer.
He is perhaps best known as a composer—he has written seven substantial chamber- music works in the past year alone, including a horn quintet and his second piano trio—and as the author of two landmark studies of jazz, "Early Jazz" and "The Swing Era," as well as a controversial survey of orchestral conducting, "The Compleat Conductor." A musical thinker with a compelling story and much to say, he recently completed the first volume of his memoirs, which takes his story to 1960, when he gave up playing the French horn and began conducting (it is in production at the University of Rochester Press).
Although he doesn't count it as one of his careers, he's also been an eloquent champion of various streams of music, ranging from the marches of John Philip Sousa, the rags of Scott Joplin and the innovative jazz of Duke Ellington and Charles Mingus, to works by a host of classical composers from Bach to Ives to Weill.
His achievements have been recognized with a Pulitzer Prize and a MacArthur Foundation "genius" award, and the National Endowment for the Arts named him a Jazz Master for his advocacy.
"A lot of people assume that if you do more than one thing," Mr. Schuller said at his home here in this Boston suburb, "you cannot possibly be good in any of the other things other than the supposed, alleged primary thing that you do. This pigeonholing, typecasting—that's a vicious thing that the society puts on many people," he said. "The ordinary person assumes that you can't possibly do that and be any good in all of them. And yet, it is occasionally possible. I mean Lenny Bernstein, he wasn't quite in seven careers, but he was in four—and all of them at a very, very high level. We only need to mention Leonardo Da Vinci. My God. Or Jefferson.
"I have been very severely criticized for a long time in many circles for just doing too much. Even in two closely related things, you're not supposed to be able to be both a good conductor and a good composer. You've got to be one or the other in the business of music; you certainly better be just one thing. I learned that lesson pretty hard."
Mr. Schuller says he got interested in jazz at the age of 11 or 12 and started reading about it, but that "a lot of the books were anecdotal and sort of almost gossipy at times. So I decided, no, this music is such a great, important music. We have to treat it like serious music and analyze it, write about it historically. And when we say Ellington is the greatest composer—why? I decided to approach this whole project in a completely comprehensive way, meaning—and this had never been done—if I talked about someone, I was going to listen to every recording that person had ever made, or that band or whatever it was. I remember I listened to, for example, something like 565 recordings of Tommy Dorsey. By doing that, in many cases I discovered pieces that no one had ever written about, even mentioned, including some absolute masterpieces."
Mr. Schuller looked at not only the performances and improvised solos, but, as a composer, also the compositions themselves. "This comprehensive approach," he said, "was unique." He described his approach as "thorough—maybe it's also sort of my German background." (Born in New York City, he went to school in Germany until he was 10 years old.)
Long fascinated by the interplay of improvisation and composition, in 1957 he coined the term "third stream" to connote music—such as some works by John Lewis and Mr. Schuller himself—that blended classical music with jazz. In his writings on jazz he has held both improvisation and composition to close scrutiny. He examined the form of the pieces, including Ellington's innovations, explained how jazz's harmonic language advanced, and threw new light on the importance of arrangers and arrangements, most of all in big-band music. "To this day," he asserts, "even a lot of musicians, but certainly audiences, have no idea of the role that arrangers have played." Almost every band—Benny Goodman, Tommy Dorsey, Count Basie—had arrangers who shaped the band's sound more so than the leader or soloists. "It's the arrangers, and they were always in the backrooms doing the arranging and copying out the parts." They didn't get much public attention, but they do in Mr. Schuller's writings.
As principal hornist with the Metropolitan Opera orchestra, he lived in New York City from 1945 to 1959. "This is one of the great periods of jazz. So I would finish with 'Tristan und Isolde,' let's say, at 11:30 or something like that. My wife would meet me at the door and we'd walk up Broadway. Well, there were seven great jazz clubs on Broadway, and there would be this feast of jazz and you had trouble deciding where to go. Anyway, there's this incredible richness—and, I swear to you, Margie and I never slept. I'd finish the opera, and clubs in those days stopped at 4 a.m. And you know, by 9 a.m. or 10 a.m. I had a rehearsal already at the Met. Can you imagine what a fantastic life? Here I'm playing 'Tristan,' and Mozart's operas and Verdi's operas and Puccini and then I'm hearing Ellington and Basie and Dizzy Gillespie. I mean I get goose pimples just recalling this."
In surveying the American jazz scene today, by contrast, Mr. Schuller finds the number of night clubs "incredibly diminished, which means there are few places for jazz musicians to work." He notes there are few jazz radio stations left, and no jazz—or Beethoven—heard on commercial network television. He laments, "That's how diminished we are culturally."
Gunther Schuller has led—and continues to lead—one extraordinary life indeed. Considering his seven careers, eight-plus decades, countless accomplishments and memorable experiences, one can see why his memoirs will fill not one, but two, volumes.
Mr. Hasse is curator of American music at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History and co- author/co-producer of the forthcoming "Jazz: The Smithsonian Anthology."
Copyright 2010 Dow Jones & Company, Inc. All Rights Reserved
Sunday, December 19, 2010
3rd in a Denver Post series: Classical Music, a Future in Doubt
The Denver Post has had a great series of articles on the future of classical music. The first two can be found here ("Hanging by a String: Can Classical Music Adapt?")and here ("Classical music is going new places to lure new faces"). All are important questions for all of us who work in the field.
The third and final article here:
The third and final article here:
Ozawa & Britten War Requiem
Seiji Ozawa, who's been suffering from esophageal cancer, has returned to the podium for some concerts with his Saito Kinen Orchestra. Below, the review in the NY Times.
I conducted the War Requiem in 1987 at PLU (see my blog post, here), which was an absolutely great experience. Some of my singers then had the fantastic and emotional experience the next year of a choir tour to England, where we gave a concert at Coventry Cathedral, where the work was premiered. A fabulous experience--both of them!
I conducted the War Requiem in 1987 at PLU (see my blog post, here), which was an absolutely great experience. Some of my singers then had the fantastic and emotional experience the next year of a choir tour to England, where we gave a concert at Coventry Cathedral, where the work was premiered. A fabulous experience--both of them!
Adding Another Layer to ‘War Requiem’ Story
By JAMES R. OESTREICH
Benjamin Britten’s “War Requiem,” completed in 1962 for the reopening of Coventry Cathedral in England, which had been bombed out by the Germans and rebuilt, was the great internationalist statement of a pacifist. To drive the point home in the first performance Britten wanted vocal soloists from Britain (Peter Pears), Germany (Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau) and the Soviet Union (Galina Vishnevskaya, who, barred from traveling to England, had to be replaced by the British soprano Heather Harper).
As an idealist force, if that is not an oxymoron, the work still packs a punch. It certainly did in a 2002 performance conducted by Britten’s friend (and Ms. Vishnevskaya’s husband) Mstislav Rostropovich in Peenemünde, Germany — at a plant used in Nazi times to develop the dreaded V-2 rocket, now a museum — with an international cast and an audience including Mikhail Gorbachev and other dignitaries.
The work has also afforded a platform for intensely personal statements, as when the great humanist conductor Robert Shaw put the baritone Benjamin Luxon forward in a 1994 presentation at Carnegie Hall, exquisitely prepared in a weeklong choral workshop, knowing full well that Mr. Luxon was almost deaf and prone to error. The performance proved a deeply moving triumph for both, as well as for Britten.
And on Saturday evening, in the last of three concerts by the Saito Kinen Orchestra at Carnegie Hall, Seiji Ozawa touched both the internationalist and the personal chords. In the first two concerts, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Mr. Ozawa, mostly recovered from surgery and treatment for esophageal cancer early in the year but still suffering acutely from sciatica, conducted only half of each.
Here he led the whole 85-minute “War Requiem,” including the segments incorporating Wilfred Owen’s poetry and scored for chamber orchestra, typically handled by a second conductor. He worked seated much of the time, looking less vigorous than he had earlier in the week despite his obvious frailty, and an intermission was added to help conserve his energy.
“I personally do not care for political pieces,” Mr. Ozawa wrote in program notes, but he was introduced to the “War Requiem” by a Rostropovich performance in 1979, and he has obviously internalized the work. He conducted from memory, as usual, with complete command and a loving attention to detail and nuance.
His current affection for the piece stems in part from its role in his physical recovery, he said in an interview in September. Having led most of the same forces in the work at the Saito Kinen Festival in Matsumoto in 2009, he set about restudying it.
“I had so much time, and I couldn’t do anything else, and music became more and more important,” he said. “Maybe the piece was a little too heavy, but I felt so happy to study and have time.”
The international representation was assured by the very nature of the Saito Kinen Orchestra, which mingles Japanese and Japanese-American performers (especially the string players) with Westerners. The Japanese choruses — the SKF Matsumoto Choir and Children’s Choir and the Ritsuyukai Choir — performed superbly, with powerful fortissimos and breathtaking pianissimos, and they articulated the Latin texts admirably.
The vocal soloists — Christine Goerke, a penetrating soprano who sometimes shaded flat; Anthony Dean Griffey, a touchingly communicative tenor; and Matthias Goerne, initially remote but ultimately a hauntingly involved baritone — were strong and well matched. And the orchestra shone again, with those remarkable strings upholding their lofty standard and the brasses — after a few early hitches — improving on their previous performances, in blazing climaxes.
With an obvious mix of exhaustion and exhilaration Mr. Ozawa generously shared the clamorous ovation from an audience that seemed to have taken in the work’s — and the performance’s — many messages.
As an idealist force, if that is not an oxymoron, the work still packs a punch. It certainly did in a 2002 performance conducted by Britten’s friend (and Ms. Vishnevskaya’s husband) Mstislav Rostropovich in Peenemünde, Germany — at a plant used in Nazi times to develop the dreaded V-2 rocket, now a museum — with an international cast and an audience including Mikhail Gorbachev and other dignitaries.
The work has also afforded a platform for intensely personal statements, as when the great humanist conductor Robert Shaw put the baritone Benjamin Luxon forward in a 1994 presentation at Carnegie Hall, exquisitely prepared in a weeklong choral workshop, knowing full well that Mr. Luxon was almost deaf and prone to error. The performance proved a deeply moving triumph for both, as well as for Britten.
And on Saturday evening, in the last of three concerts by the Saito Kinen Orchestra at Carnegie Hall, Seiji Ozawa touched both the internationalist and the personal chords. In the first two concerts, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Mr. Ozawa, mostly recovered from surgery and treatment for esophageal cancer early in the year but still suffering acutely from sciatica, conducted only half of each.
Here he led the whole 85-minute “War Requiem,” including the segments incorporating Wilfred Owen’s poetry and scored for chamber orchestra, typically handled by a second conductor. He worked seated much of the time, looking less vigorous than he had earlier in the week despite his obvious frailty, and an intermission was added to help conserve his energy.
“I personally do not care for political pieces,” Mr. Ozawa wrote in program notes, but he was introduced to the “War Requiem” by a Rostropovich performance in 1979, and he has obviously internalized the work. He conducted from memory, as usual, with complete command and a loving attention to detail and nuance.
His current affection for the piece stems in part from its role in his physical recovery, he said in an interview in September. Having led most of the same forces in the work at the Saito Kinen Festival in Matsumoto in 2009, he set about restudying it.
“I had so much time, and I couldn’t do anything else, and music became more and more important,” he said. “Maybe the piece was a little too heavy, but I felt so happy to study and have time.”
The international representation was assured by the very nature of the Saito Kinen Orchestra, which mingles Japanese and Japanese-American performers (especially the string players) with Westerners. The Japanese choruses — the SKF Matsumoto Choir and Children’s Choir and the Ritsuyukai Choir — performed superbly, with powerful fortissimos and breathtaking pianissimos, and they articulated the Latin texts admirably.
The vocal soloists — Christine Goerke, a penetrating soprano who sometimes shaded flat; Anthony Dean Griffey, a touchingly communicative tenor; and Matthias Goerne, initially remote but ultimately a hauntingly involved baritone — were strong and well matched. And the orchestra shone again, with those remarkable strings upholding their lofty standard and the brasses — after a few early hitches — improving on their previous performances, in blazing climaxes.
With an obvious mix of exhaustion and exhilaration Mr. Ozawa generously shared the clamorous ovation from an audience that seemed to have taken in the work’s — and the performance’s — many messages.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Simon Rattle on Charlie Rose
James Franklin asked if I'd seen Simon Rattle on Charlie Rose's show (I hadn't). Here it is:
http://www.charlierose.com/view/interview/11358
http://www.charlierose.com/view/interview/11358
Online "Christmas Card" advertising the new Arts Center in Kristiansand, Norway
My sister-in-law is an administrator for the Kristiansand Symphony Orchestra (Kristiansand is at the southern tip of Norway) and sent this e-card with a picture of the new hall, plus photos of the performing ensembles (orchestra, opera, dance) accompanied by a recording from their Christmas concert this year, featuring Norwegian trumpet player Tine Thing. To get the card to play, click on the link, "Klikk på kortet for a åpne det."
A lovely way to publicize their new hall, which is close to opening and a nice way for anyone to publicize their ensemble/organization. I'll have to find out if we can do something like this at UNT!
A lovely way to publicize their new hall, which is close to opening and a nice way for anyone to publicize their ensemble/organization. I'll have to find out if we can do something like this at UNT!
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Raising your own money for the arts
An article from the Wall Street Journal. A huge challenge for the future of the Arts is to find new models for funding what we do.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703395204576023762886208764.html
The choreographer and co-founder of dance company CatScratch Theatre is launching a contemporary dance festival in January called FLICfest at the Irondale Center in Brooklyn.
She donated $5,000 in start-up costs and is asking fellow artists and dance enthusiasts to help raise $17,000 to cover the rest of the costs. Irondale is offering the space at no cost.
"We're paying the choreographers for their work, which rarely happens for a show of our size, but asking them for a commitment to help us fundraise," Ms. Zimmerman says. "It's part of a movement to get artists comfortable asking people to donate money and fund-raising for projects instead of just waiting for a big patron or government grant."
Taking inspiration from the 2008 presidential election, which marshaled hundreds of thousands of micropayments toward the campaign of now-President Barack Obama, she says too many artists fund shows out of their own pockets or don't showcase their work because they can't get funding.
Additionally, cultivating a group of donors also "builds a community of people that are then invested in the work," Ms. Zimmerman says.
The festival will present feature-length dance and performances by 12 choreographers over two weeks. Performances include Prime Mover, a piece by Jonah Bokaer that employs a constellation of satellites and GPS receivers, and Confined, a piece by Emily Berry that combines live music by violinist and composer Daniel Bernard Roumain, the spoken word by writer Todd Craig and scenography by Gail Scott White.
Typically festivals present shorter works that max out at 15 minutes to bring in as many viewers and participants as possible to fund the show.
At FLICfest, works will run 50 minutes to an hour.
"A longer work allows for a greater development of an idea and the attention of the audience," Ms. Zimmerman says. "If you give the audience a change, it's amazing how long they will really stay with you.
The 38-year-old choreographer dropped out of law school in 1994 to pursue dance and started the CatScratch Theatre in 2000 to perform in non-traditional spaces such as the Staten Island Ferry and subway cars. She received a master's degree in fine arts in dance from New York University's Tisch School and most recently participated in the Modern Museum of Art's exhibition on performance artist Marina Abramovic.
"I could keep producing my own show every year but what I really want to do is help create new models and new things for other people to participate in," she says. "Then they can improve upon those models and keep the art of dance alive and vital.
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703395204576023762886208764.html
By SHELLY BANJO
Jeramy Zimmerman wants to teach artists how to ask for money.The choreographer and co-founder of dance company CatScratch Theatre is launching a contemporary dance festival in January called FLICfest at the Irondale Center in Brooklyn.
She donated $5,000 in start-up costs and is asking fellow artists and dance enthusiasts to help raise $17,000 to cover the rest of the costs. Irondale is offering the space at no cost.
"We're paying the choreographers for their work, which rarely happens for a show of our size, but asking them for a commitment to help us fundraise," Ms. Zimmerman says. "It's part of a movement to get artists comfortable asking people to donate money and fund-raising for projects instead of just waiting for a big patron or government grant."
Taking inspiration from the 2008 presidential election, which marshaled hundreds of thousands of micropayments toward the campaign of now-President Barack Obama, she says too many artists fund shows out of their own pockets or don't showcase their work because they can't get funding.
Additionally, cultivating a group of donors also "builds a community of people that are then invested in the work," Ms. Zimmerman says.
The festival will present feature-length dance and performances by 12 choreographers over two weeks. Performances include Prime Mover, a piece by Jonah Bokaer that employs a constellation of satellites and GPS receivers, and Confined, a piece by Emily Berry that combines live music by violinist and composer Daniel Bernard Roumain, the spoken word by writer Todd Craig and scenography by Gail Scott White.
Typically festivals present shorter works that max out at 15 minutes to bring in as many viewers and participants as possible to fund the show.
At FLICfest, works will run 50 minutes to an hour.
"A longer work allows for a greater development of an idea and the attention of the audience," Ms. Zimmerman says. "If you give the audience a change, it's amazing how long they will really stay with you.
The 38-year-old choreographer dropped out of law school in 1994 to pursue dance and started the CatScratch Theatre in 2000 to perform in non-traditional spaces such as the Staten Island Ferry and subway cars. She received a master's degree in fine arts in dance from New York University's Tisch School and most recently participated in the Modern Museum of Art's exhibition on performance artist Marina Abramovic.
"I could keep producing my own show every year but what I really want to do is help create new models and new things for other people to participate in," she says. "Then they can improve upon those models and keep the art of dance alive and vital.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Leon Fleisher
A great musician and pianist, this from the Wall Street Journal:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703326204575616911411469180.html?mod=WSJ_ArtsEnt_LifestyleArtEnt_4
![[ccfleisher]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/ED-AM719_ccflei_DV_20101215164618.jpg)
Chris Serra We are together to talk about his new autobiography, written with Anne Midgette, titled "My Nine Lives." It's a remarkable story by any standard. A student of the legendary Artur Schnabel, Mr. Fleisher was among the best of a generation of American talents. He made his Carnegie Hall debut at age 16 with the New York Philharmonic under the direction of conductor Pierre Monteux, who dubbed him "the pianistic find of the century." Throughout the 1950s and early '60s, he fulfilled every expectation of that declaration. Then, beginning in 1962, the pianist developed weakness in his right hand, causing two fingers to curl involuntarily.
There was no explanation for it, though in time it garnered the official diagnosis of focal dystonia. "I went from doctor to doctor," he once told me. "I tried everything from aromatherapy to Zen Buddhism and no one had any answers. . . . [But] it usually happens to people who use fine muscles under pressure. It hits surgeons in the hands, horn players in the lips and singers in the vocal cords." The pianist turned to repertoire for the left hand alone, and pursued other avenues, such as conducting and teaching. In the last several years, through a variety of therapies, he has been able to use both hands again, though with some limitations.
Yet, even while retreating from the stage, he helped to shape extraordinary talents like André Watts and Yefim Bronfman. Some years ago, I witnessed the power of his approach at the Ravinia Festival outside of Chicago, as he coached a young woman in a master class. "Play it with more light," he told her. "Not with the hot light of the sun, but with the cold light of the moon." Her interpretation changed instantly. "You heard a difference?" he asked me, surprised and humbled when I related the story. "It was dramatic," I told him. "I'm gratified to hear that," he replied softly.
The secret of great musical performance lies in listening, he reveals. "It is a tripartite process: We have to be three people at once. Person A 'hears' what the music should sound like, setting the goals. Person B sits there and pushes the keys down, in response to Person A. Person C sits apart and judges, telling Person B what adjustments to make. This goes on simultaneously. Most students are concerned with producing what they want—A and B—but they have the least amount of space in their brains for listening: C.
"In all the conservatories, including my own at the Peabody Conservatory and the Curtis Institute, the kids are extremely competitive—they want to play louder and faster than the pianist in the next studio. Most of them can play the hell out of the piano in a way that their elders never could. But they belong more appropriately in the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. It all has very little to do with making art. They have a lot of work to do, but it's easier just to pump plastic."
Couple this lack of listening with a "competition for the entertainment dollar," he asserts, and you get a truly destructive combination. "Players try to convince us by using body English—they writhe or look up at the ceiling—all to prove how affected they are by the music. They don't realize what a distraction it really is. We are supposed to be impressed by their show of emotion, but in reality they are merely erecting a barrier between the music and my soul."
Mr. Fleisher is heir to a legacy that focused on music rather than on showmanship. ("The difference between my programs and those of other pianists," Schnabel once announced, "is that mine are boring not only in the first half but also in the second.") This has translated into a lifelong love affair with the great masterworks, especially those of one national school in particular. He writes in the book of his enduring connection to the Brahms First Piano Concerto, but that is merely one example of his admiration for Germany's musical legacy.
"French music is sensory—it involves smell and taste and touch," he explains. "The main characteristic is Impressionism: You squint your eyes and see the outlines. I've often wondered what would happen if you could squint your ears. But quantitatively, the repertoire is minimal: There is essentially Debussy, Ravel and Fauré. Russian music is very subjective—it is really built around the 'I.' The Russians write beautiful tunes, but they are often kind of whiny and breast-beating: 'Look how I suffer.' There isn't that large a quantity of it either—we mostly hear Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev and Shostakovich.
"German music is what knocks you out—in quantity as well as in quality. This is a strange thing for someone of my generation to say after witnessing World War II," he admits, "but the German tradition is metaphysical. It connects with the greater cosmos. It asks in what way I am like a brook or a tree. Beethoven, for example, always strives for things beyond the merely personal. And the breadth is unbelievable—from Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Schubert and Beethoven to Brahms." It is music of philosophical depth and great intricacy, and Mr. Fleisher's renderings of it over the years have been, as the Kennedy Center Honors announced when they awarded him a medal in 2007, "a testament to the life-affirming power of art."
When asked what he plans to do next, the pianist seems taken aback. His work has never stopped. "I hope to get up tomorrow," he says unceremoniously.
Mr. Isacoff is on the faculty of the Purchase College conservatories of music and dance (SUNY) and author of "Temperament: How Music Became a Battleground for the Great Minds of Western Civilization" (Knopf/Vintage).
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703326204575616911411469180.html?mod=WSJ_ArtsEnt_LifestyleArtEnt_4
By STUART ISACOFF
Leon Fleisher, a grizzled bear of a man, sits slightly crumpled in a chair at his publisher's office, somewhat worn for wear. But his eyes are as probing as searchlights. That's not surprising. The 82-year-old pianist has a reputation for piercing to the heart of things with the lyrical insights of a poet; students at the Peabody Institute have even nicknamed him "Obi-Wan Kenobi" in an affectionate reference to the wise Jedi knight from "Star Wars." Chris Serra There was no explanation for it, though in time it garnered the official diagnosis of focal dystonia. "I went from doctor to doctor," he once told me. "I tried everything from aromatherapy to Zen Buddhism and no one had any answers. . . . [But] it usually happens to people who use fine muscles under pressure. It hits surgeons in the hands, horn players in the lips and singers in the vocal cords." The pianist turned to repertoire for the left hand alone, and pursued other avenues, such as conducting and teaching. In the last several years, through a variety of therapies, he has been able to use both hands again, though with some limitations.
Yet, even while retreating from the stage, he helped to shape extraordinary talents like André Watts and Yefim Bronfman. Some years ago, I witnessed the power of his approach at the Ravinia Festival outside of Chicago, as he coached a young woman in a master class. "Play it with more light," he told her. "Not with the hot light of the sun, but with the cold light of the moon." Her interpretation changed instantly. "You heard a difference?" he asked me, surprised and humbled when I related the story. "It was dramatic," I told him. "I'm gratified to hear that," he replied softly.
The secret of great musical performance lies in listening, he reveals. "It is a tripartite process: We have to be three people at once. Person A 'hears' what the music should sound like, setting the goals. Person B sits there and pushes the keys down, in response to Person A. Person C sits apart and judges, telling Person B what adjustments to make. This goes on simultaneously. Most students are concerned with producing what they want—A and B—but they have the least amount of space in their brains for listening: C.
"In all the conservatories, including my own at the Peabody Conservatory and the Curtis Institute, the kids are extremely competitive—they want to play louder and faster than the pianist in the next studio. Most of them can play the hell out of the piano in a way that their elders never could. But they belong more appropriately in the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus. It all has very little to do with making art. They have a lot of work to do, but it's easier just to pump plastic."
Couple this lack of listening with a "competition for the entertainment dollar," he asserts, and you get a truly destructive combination. "Players try to convince us by using body English—they writhe or look up at the ceiling—all to prove how affected they are by the music. They don't realize what a distraction it really is. We are supposed to be impressed by their show of emotion, but in reality they are merely erecting a barrier between the music and my soul."
Mr. Fleisher is heir to a legacy that focused on music rather than on showmanship. ("The difference between my programs and those of other pianists," Schnabel once announced, "is that mine are boring not only in the first half but also in the second.") This has translated into a lifelong love affair with the great masterworks, especially those of one national school in particular. He writes in the book of his enduring connection to the Brahms First Piano Concerto, but that is merely one example of his admiration for Germany's musical legacy.
"French music is sensory—it involves smell and taste and touch," he explains. "The main characteristic is Impressionism: You squint your eyes and see the outlines. I've often wondered what would happen if you could squint your ears. But quantitatively, the repertoire is minimal: There is essentially Debussy, Ravel and Fauré. Russian music is very subjective—it is really built around the 'I.' The Russians write beautiful tunes, but they are often kind of whiny and breast-beating: 'Look how I suffer.' There isn't that large a quantity of it either—we mostly hear Rachmaninoff, Prokofiev and Shostakovich.
"German music is what knocks you out—in quantity as well as in quality. This is a strange thing for someone of my generation to say after witnessing World War II," he admits, "but the German tradition is metaphysical. It connects with the greater cosmos. It asks in what way I am like a brook or a tree. Beethoven, for example, always strives for things beyond the merely personal. And the breadth is unbelievable—from Bach, Haydn, Mozart, Schubert and Beethoven to Brahms." It is music of philosophical depth and great intricacy, and Mr. Fleisher's renderings of it over the years have been, as the Kennedy Center Honors announced when they awarded him a medal in 2007, "a testament to the life-affirming power of art."
When asked what he plans to do next, the pianist seems taken aback. His work has never stopped. "I hope to get up tomorrow," he says unceremoniously.
Mr. Isacoff is on the faculty of the Purchase College conservatories of music and dance (SUNY) and author of "Temperament: How Music Became a Battleground for the Great Minds of Western Civilization" (Knopf/Vintage).
Colbert & Sondheim . . .
What could be better?
This includes Sondheim's appearance on Colbert's show, where Colbert sings his own version of send in the clowns:
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/culturemonster/2010/12/stephen-sondheim-holds-his-own-against-stephen-colbert.html
This includes Sondheim's appearance on Colbert's show, where Colbert sings his own version of send in the clowns:
http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/culturemonster/2010/12/stephen-sondheim-holds-his-own-against-stephen-colbert.html
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
How many hours should your students (and you) study?
Hi all,
This is a post from Motley Fool, an online investment community. The particular post is by Wendy, a very bright woman (chemist), who saved lots (lived below her means) and, when she lost her job, had enough money to retire to Washington state (Sequim, a lovely place!). She took a job teaching chemistry at the local community college this fall, and I quote below most of her post. This is an issue for us as conductors/students/teachers because it deals with the contemporary student and their expectations of what it takes to learn--in particular, how much study it takes to learn well. For anyone in music, this is a critical skill. Her post:
So, what does that mean for us? If you're a teacher, how much do you demand of your students--not just in any academic classes, but in your choir? If you're a grad student, how much time do you spend studying for your academic classes? As a conductor, how many hours do you put in with score study?
I had a lovely note from one of my choir members this fall:
I'd be interested in your reactions, especially those of you who belong to this generation.
This is a post from Motley Fool, an online investment community. The particular post is by Wendy, a very bright woman (chemist), who saved lots (lived below her means) and, when she lost her job, had enough money to retire to Washington state (Sequim, a lovely place!). She took a job teaching chemistry at the local community college this fall, and I quote below most of her post. This is an issue for us as conductors/students/teachers because it deals with the contemporary student and their expectations of what it takes to learn--in particular, how much study it takes to learn well. For anyone in music, this is a critical skill. Her post:
As some of you may know, I have been teaching chemistry at a local community college.
The course is college-level freshman chemistry for science majors, with a very fine textbook. (There are 2 lower-level chemistry courses for non-science majors and for preparation.)
I was told to make my course equivalent to freshman general chemistry at University of Washington (UW), a world-class college. The mandate of the community college is to provide low-cost freshman/sophomore credits, but to qualify students to transfer and get their 4-year degree at UW. They need to be competent enough to take higher-level courses at UW. To make them happy with high grades but without the competence would do them no favors. They would simply fail later.
To prepare the equivalent course, I accessed the UW labs online. We had the equipment for most of them, and we performed the labs. The students actually did well in the lab.
To maintain the same level of quality as UW, I told the students they would have to study at least 10 hours a week (this is standard for chemistry classes) and do the homework problems without referring to the book.
Although I gave online open-book multiple choice tests like other instructors, the midterm and final were closed-book tests. These were based on homework problems and labs that they did with their own hands and wrote up in reports. They were expected to memorize the names of chemicals, to figure out ionic charges from the periodic table, to determine dilutions, to know how to titrate acids and bases, to balance redox reactions, to calculate enthalpy, etc. The usual freshman chemistry stuff.
In addition to the lectures and labs, I began doing hours of extra, out-of-class lectures to students who requested them. I also started team problem-solving, since they seemed to zone out when I solved the problems on the white board.
Of the original 22 students, 10 dropped out. Of the 12 that stuck it out, 2 got As, 2 got Bs, 3 got Cs and 5 got Ds. The ones who got Ds were unable to write a simple chemical equation, even after they had been intensively drilled in it.
The average grade in my class was 2.0. I'm absolutely sure that my class would have done the same (or worse) in the equivalent class at UW.
The average grade for this same class from 2005-2010 was 3.5. (at least 4 different instructors.) Either I'm teaching badly...or I'm asking for a level of performance that is straight out of the textbook but far more difficult than other instructors.
I asked the department head to see my teacher evaluation, since I want to improve my teaching performance. One of the questions was telling.
17.Which best describes the number of hours per week you study for this class?
Amount # Less than 1 hour/week 2 18.18% 1-3 hrs/week 1 9.09% 4-6 hrs/week 3 27.27% 7-9 hrs/week 2 18.18% 10 hrs or more per week 3 27.27%
Most of the class hated memorization. They hated closed-book tests - they are used to open-book multiple-choice tests (easy for instructors, because the computer marks the test and records the grades). They are used to being spoon-fed everything they need to know in lectures. They are used to Googling and open books. They didn't believe me when I told them that the only way to get good at solving problems is to solve many problems.
The grades lined up pretty precisely with the study times.
Today, I found this.
http://education-portal.com/articles/Working_Hard_or_Hardly_...
Working Hard or Hardly Working? Analysis Shows Decline in Studying Among Today's College Students
Jul 08, 2010
Researchers Philip Babcock and Mindy Marks analyzed data from time use surveys given to American college and university students over a 40 year span. They found a significant drop in academic time investment across all types of students, suggesting that a decline in student input may be leading to a larger slump in productivity.
Analyzing data from time use surveys spanning 40 years, Babcock and Marks found a shocking 67% reduction in the number of hours today's college students spend cracking the books each week. That figure even applies to the golden students with perfect SAT scores and flawless GPAs - the researchers found that the drop was broad-based, showing up across all student demographics, choice of major and composition of schools.
Why, if students are performing well, do the hours they spend studying matter?... [end quote]
Never mind the sociology babble that follows.
Study hours matter because learning and proficiency take time. Memorization of new information takes time. Learning how to solve problems takes time. That is even true of superior students with great focus and retentive memories, like me. It's even more true of average students who are constantly distracted by social media, texting, etc., like today's students.
There were students in my class who simply couldn't learn and retain chemistry, though they did study hard. But half the class didn't even try, if you count the ones who didn't study and the ones who dropped out.
Going back to Jeff's discussion of expectations, it boils down to reality.
The standard of living depends on productivity. Real productivity, which comes from real work.
Several students in the class were disappointed. Not too surprising! They are used to succeeding for just being there.
So, what does that mean for us? If you're a teacher, how much do you demand of your students--not just in any academic classes, but in your choir? If you're a grad student, how much time do you spend studying for your academic classes? As a conductor, how many hours do you put in with score study?
I had a lovely note from one of my choir members this fall:
Also, just wanted to say that, since I've been in the choir for three years now, I've noticed some changes. I remember my first year the instructor asked us to practice something for the following Monday. When Monday came, I remember asking the other tenors if they had practiced, and one of them literally laughed at my question.
Although I'm sure we could practice more than we do, there is a huge difference in how much the members take the choir and its director seriously. Keep in mind that, when I first joined the choir as a sophomore, I was one of the youngest members, and the choir was much older. Now, the choir is much younger as a whole than it was when I joined, and yet is acting with more maturity and approaching the music with more responsibility. I think we know that we still have a lot of work to do, but I can really see that you're building the choir's culture up.
I'd be interested in your reactions, especially those of you who belong to this generation.
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